


Sick Days

by wombaton



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, The Academy Is...
Genre: M/M, emetophobia warning, tumblr au prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-04-05 02:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4162620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wombaton/pseuds/wombaton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Let it be known that Gabriel Saporta is a literal child. Let it be known that William Beckett is a saint and quite possibly the best boyfriend on earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nonbinarycharliedalton](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=nonbinarycharliedalton).



> For Rachel, who forwarded me an AU Prompt List on Tumblr and I absolutely could not say no.

In a way, looking after Gabe is a lot like looking after a toddler who has just recently developed the motor skills to scoot around the world but hasn’t yet grasped the whole common sense thing that comes along with growing up. More specifically, the whole common sense thing about not needing to put everything in your mouth that looks like it may fit.

As he sits on the arm of the sofa, watching his boyfriend squirm, William considers this thoroughly.

“You shouldn’t have drunk an entire bottle of barbeque sauce you infant,” he says instead. “Maybe then your stomach wouldn’t be hurting.”

Gabe just moans from his spot on the couch.

“Bilvy _baby_ , you don’t understand –,”

“Understand that you have the self-preservation skills of a squirrel?”

“–understand that Pete bet me twenty-seven bucks and a chance to get backstage at the next MCR show,” Gabe’s skin looks pale and his lips tremble between every other word like he may vomit. “And I’m not going to back down from anything that pint size emo dares me to do because despite what he says I’m not a wimp so –,”

“No you’re just an idiot who –,”

“Who’s twenty-seven bucks _richer_ , babe,” Gabe says like it’s the simplest thing in the world to comprehend. William restrains himself (just barely) from smacking his boyfriend at the unvoiced ‘duh’ that hangs in the air.

“Gabe!” William smacks a hand to his forehead instead. “You’re a _famous rockstar_! Why do you care about a measly twenty-seven bucks?!”

Gabe sighs.

“Well that was all Wentz had in his wallet at the time and–,”

“And why, though I don’t think I fully wanna know the answer to this one, are you so keen on getting back stage to MCR?” William squints, “Do you or do you not comprehend the entire ‘being a rockstar’ thing? Did the barbeque sauce make you forget how to function or something?”

“Babe, that hurts,” Gabe frowns. “And besides I don’t really know anybody in My Chem so it would be weird if I just showed up back stage after one of their shows and –,”

“And why do you want back stage so bad?”

Gabe rolls his eyes. “If you would have let me finish it’s because the Way brothers throw rockin’ parties apparently according to Pete, and he said that they could even sometimes be _better than mine_.”

“No!” William gasps and places a hand to his chest in mock sympathy. “Not better than yours?”

“Shut up, shut –,” Gabe claps a hand to his mouth.

There’s a pause.

“Please tell me you’re not going to vomit on my carpet,” William says, springing from the couch. Gabe raises a finger and it’s a tense minute before he waves his boyfriend off.

“It comes and goes in waves,” he explains, and then says: “But seriously please you may wanna get me a bucket.”

“Get yourself a bucket!”

“I’m sick!”

“You’re the one who made yourself sick!”

“Will… _baby_ ,” Gabe shoots him a look. “You don’t blame a cancer patient for getting cancer. And besides, your carpet could benefit from being vomited on. I mean, honey, who gets off-yellow shag carpeting in this day and age?”

“You don’t _have_ cancer you massive child!” he yells as he throws his hands in the air. “You just have a stomach ache from doing straight shots of barbeque sauce with Pete from an A1 bottle for two and a half hours for _god knows what reason_ in order to –,”

“To prove I wasn’t a wimp,” supplies Gabe.

William pinches the bridge of his nose, resisting the urge to sigh.

At the best of times, Gabe was charming and sweet, sensitive to a fault even. His considerate nature and ability to make almost anyone laugh was what drew William to him, and it was his big brown bedroom eyes and nice arms which helped to seal the deal.

If he had known a year ago that the very same tall, dark, and handsome stranger would be very unsexily moaning on his couch over the inevitability of barbeque sauce induced vomiting, well –

“Babe I was serious about that bucket,” Gabe says in a rush, cheeks flushing a rancid green. “Please. Please, please, please pl –,”

William doesn’t stick around to hear the rest of that sentence. Bolting to the bathroom, he grabs the half full bucket of trash and upends it on the tile, letting used tissues and make-up remover wipes litter the floor. He’ll pick it up later.

Scurrying back to Gabe on the couch, he throws the bucket onto his boyfriend’s lap. Seconds later, Gabe gag and empties the contents of his stomach.

Shuddering, he says between retches: “Okay, so maybe this _was_ a stupid idea.”

“You think?” says William before he can stop himself.

“Okay you win I’m a dumbass now can we –,” Gabe dry heaves once, twice, then stills. “Can we drop the conversation?”

William frowns, folding his arms. Although it’s Gabe’s own fault that he’s stuck in this situation, and it probably won’t be the last time the two of them find themselves in this exact scenario, William feels bad.

“Um,” he says after a second. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Gabe smiles softly. Then he shakes his head.

“You’re gonna laugh at me,” he says.

“Listen, if I was gonna laugh at you, it was fifteen minutes ago when you were moaning like beached whale,” William retorts. “Watching you vomit now, well it’s just pathetic and I kinda feel bad.”

“Ah there’s the William I know and love,” Gabe snickers.

William, in turn, ignores the way that his heart speeds up and stomach warms at the word ‘love’.

“Anyways, if you were seriously serious about helping me –,”

“Which I was,” William says. “Seriously serious.”

“Well my mom used to run her hands through my hair or rub my back when I was sick as a kid,” Gabe sighs. “Like I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable or anything but –,”

“Gabriel, please,” William holds up a hand, “I’ve sucked your dick in the men’s bathroom at Chiko’s while there was a line out the door, okay? I think we’ve moved well past awkward.” 

That startles a laugh out of Gabe.

“I suppose you’re right, _corazón_ ,” he says, placing the partly-filled bucket on the floor. 

“Like hell I am. Now make room.”

Gabe presses himself further into the couch cushions until he looks as though the crevice may eat him alive. Twisting this way and that, William finally settles on lying flat on his back, head propped against the armrest and pulling Gabe on top of him so that he lays across his chest like a human blanket. 

“Now where would I be without you?” Gabe says once comfortable, head tucked into the junction between William’s neck and shoulder.

“Probably dead in a ditch somewhere,” William sighs. “Official prognosis: overdosed on Taco Bell trying to break the world record for most churros shoved in a human mouth at one time.”

“Excuse me, racist,” Gabe deadpans, jamming his fingers into William’s ribs causing him to spasm. “And if I was going to die from over eating, you could bet your ass it would be on _real_ burritos and churros. Or Cinnabon. I fuckin’ love Cinnabon.”

“Oh my god shut up.”

“Make me.”

William threads his hands through Gabe’s hair and gives a sharp tug.

“Okay if you want me to stop acting out, that’s definitely _not_ the way to do that, babe.”

“And by the way,” William sniffs. “My carpet is _not_ ugly okay this was just what came with the place when I moved in and I didn’t care enough to renovate – Holy shit.”

William angles his head to look at Gabe.

“Do you have a boner right now?”

“What can I say,” Gabe shrugs. “I’m incorrigible.”

“You were throwing up barbeque sauce like fifteen minutes ago and now you wanna fuck?”

“Aw babe,” Gabe leans in for a kiss. “Don’t be like that.”

William tilts his head so Gabe’s mouth catches on the side of his jaw. He plants several quick kisses, nipping William once lightly on the neck, before settling his head back in its previous position.

“You’re gross,” William frowns.  “And your breath still smells like vomit, you wild animal.”

Gabe shrugs.

“Can’t help it,” he says. “When I’m with you, you just make me want to kiss you all the time.”

“That would be adorable if you, again, didn’t stink like puke.”

William rolls his eyes and reaches behind him to feel around for the television remote on the coffee table. After a moment of fumbling, he finds it and turns it on, flipping for something to serve as quiet background noise. He settles on _Scrubs_.

“Babe?” Gabe says after a minute has passed.

“What?”

“Can you go back to playing with my hair again,” he says quietly. “It felt nice.”

Heaving a big and put-upon sigh, William rethreads his fingers in Gabe’s short hair and scratches at the scalp. When it’s all said and done, it’s times like this (vomiting aside), that William would rather have over anything else. He loves _The Academy Is…_ , loves Sisky and The Butcher like they were brothers of his own. But what he has with Gabe, it’s special. It’s something secret, something that the rest of the world can’t touch and taint no matter how hard they try. It’s Saturday mornings, waking up to a kiss rank with morning breath and good feelings. It’s Monday nights, spent tuning guitars and playing samples back and forth, trusting Gabe’s ear like it’s an extension of his own.  It’s Thursday afternoons, lying together on the couch and watching reruns of _Scrubs_ because Gabe is sick and when he’s sick he’s a child who pesters relentlessly until he gets his way.

William tells him such.

“Yeah,” Gabe breaths out a laugh. “But you love me though.”

He pulls on Gabe’s hair again, but he supposes, yeah, he does.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "we’re always making stupid bets like ‘bet you can’t drink this whole bottle of BBQ sauce’ but then you did and now you’re sick and I feel really bad here let me look after you"


End file.
